


Matters of Preference

by ratwoman



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Crossdressing, Fluff, M/M, Mild References to Transphobia, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratwoman/pseuds/ratwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin likes to wear skirts, and dresses. But this doesn't make him less of a boy.</p><p>Based on this <a href="http://secretcow.tumblr.com/post/80422428618">art.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Matters of Preference

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretcow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretcow/gifts).



_i_

Armin couldn't really remember a time when he, Mikasa, and Eren didn't borrow each other's clothes. The sleepovers every Saturday usually led to something being left behind and absorbed into another's wardrobe, and then it grew into simply liking each other's clothes, and saying, “Can I borrow this?” and being told, “Duh, sure.”

Armin liked to wear everything. He liked to buy warm fuzzy sweaters from thrift stores, and he liked to borrow Eren's t-shirts from bands he'd never heard of because they were pretty. He liked to lie down in bed wearing sweats and a wife beater, he liked to find unusual socks.

But Armin also really, really liked to wear dresses. It'd started when he was a kid and people seemed to mistake him for a little girl a lot of the time, because of his longer hair and wide eyes. The fact that he wore lots of bracelets and necklaces that he and Mikasa had beaded in his bedroom did not help, nor did the sloppily applied nail polish in colors like lime green and yellow.

He'd found he'd liked the feel of dresses and skirts. He liked the flow of swishy fabric when he turned around quickly, or the way it would bounce and brush against his hands hanging at his side when he walked. He liked to spin and make the fluffier ones billow out around him.

This didn't mean he wasn't a boy, however. On his first day of fourth grade, a brazen new student had walked up to him, and had said, “What are you? A girl? Or gay?”

Armin remembered that day very clearly. He was wearing pink nail polish, and one of Mikasa's blue skirts over his favorite sweater. He wore leggings underneath the skirt, and his feet packed up into dirty and well loved sneakers, a beaded necklace that said "Armin" hanging from his neck.

Armin had stared at the new student for a moment, and said, “I'm a boy, and I dress like this because I like it. It doesn't mean anything.”

“You're a sissy,” the other student had said, before wrinkling his nose and walking away. Armin complained to the teacher, but nothing ever happened.

_ii_

Armin moved on. He learned to do French manicures, and he really liked them, because there was just somehow a certain elegance to them. On his thirteenth birthday, his grandfather drove him to a tattoo parlor, and he pierced both of his lobes once and got two on his right cartilage. Emboldened by his, Mikasa had gone to get her nose pierced.

Eren had thought the two of them were crazy.

The clothes sharing continued to become a regular occurrence, until no one was really sure what had belonged to whom anymore. The summer before ninth grade, Grisha had declared this a problem, and along with Armin's grandfather, had decided to get all the clothes put together and sorted out as to who they were supposed to belong to.

The amount of clothing three fourteen year olds could own put together was actually rather staggering. The pile ended up being around two and a half feet high in the middle and stretched over the rug in the Jaeger's living room.

“Wow, I haven't seen this in forever,” Eren said, picking up a black fleece that had a blue inner lining.

“That was yours?” Mikasa said, “I should've figured. It sat in my closet forever because it kind of smelled. I should have realized.”

Eren stuck his tongue out, and threw the fleece on his pile that was slowly forming on the couch. He'd gotten a pair of shoes back from Armin already, which was rather illogical, as he and Armin did not share a shoe size, though Armin and Mikasa did.

Mikasa had taken to throwing the skirts and dresses into her pile, until she came upon a soft purple pastel one she didn't recognize at all. It was very soft, and about long enough to reach her knees. There was a big of gauze between the layers of fabric, making it floaty.

“Oh, that's mine,” Armin said with a blush.

“I didn't know you actually bought skirts on your own, too,” Mikasa said, raising her eyebrows. “Could I borrow this?” she asked. “It's cute.”

“I thought the point of this was to make us all have less borrowed clothes between us,” Armin said with a laugh. “But yeah, sure you can.”

“That's what Grisha expects,” Mikasa said, “but he'd be kind of stupid to honestly think this wouldn't make everything more scrambled.” Armin laughed.

“Well, if we're further confusing our stuff,” he said, “I wanna borrow your red inch and a half pumps.”

He did borrow them, along with a pair of combat boots (his beloved orange Chuck Taylors were going to make a home in Mikasa's closet for the time being). Eren ended up stealing one of his sweaters, and in return Armin had taken an absolutely toasty warm hoodie. Those, were of course, just a few of the things that they actually realized were theirs. On the ride back to his house with several trashbags full of clothes, Armin had a feeling that he was actually going home with less clothes he'd bought for himself than he'd arrived with.

_iii_

The pumps were more difficult to work with in practice than in theory, Armin had discovered though.

Actually getting his feet into them at all proved to be a challenge. Although Armin and Mikasa shared a shoe size, his feet were a bit wider than her's, especially at the toes, where the pumps were especially narrow. His first few times putting them on, he'd ended up with his littlest toe curled up over the toe next to it on one foot, or folded underneath his foot entirely on the other. It was frustrating, and definitely not a state he could be walking in.

Instead, he learned to point his toes just right, and slip the shoe over his foot at just the right angle. With a little practice, he did actually manage to put a shoe on correctly.

Then was the hurdle of walking with them. There was no point in wearing them if he couldn't work them, right? The first he stood in them, it was like his balance was completely realigned. He was suddenly concentrating all of his weight on one half of his feet instead of the entirety of them, and it was terrifying. It was like wobbling around on the balls of his feet all the time, and God, he wondered, why did anyone actually do this? How could anyone actually do this?

A bit more trying, and he realized that even though part of his feet were elevated, he could still use them. He could put pressure on his heels, and distribute his weight a bit more evenly, if he tried. His walk would be more even, more graceful, if he swung his hips as he did it.

But he also realized why people wore them. There was an absolutely powerful, invigorating feeling welling up in his gut as he listened to the heels click on the floor as he walked, his perspective suddenly and inch and a half higher up than it usually was. His body moved differently liked this, and he loved it.

_iv_

In terms of his grandson, Armin's grandfather had always operated under the motto that, “If Armin's happy, he's doing it right,” and under that way of thinking, when Armin appeared in the kitchen the morning before his first day of high school wearing bright red pumps, black leggings, a skirt and one of his sweaters, his grandfather didn't question it at all. Instead, he simply said with an amused smile, “Are those Mikasa's, or did you buy them?”

“They're Mikasa's,” Armin said. “It wasn't that hard to learn to walk in them at all. Trial and error, I guess, grandpa.”

His grandfather smiled, and said, “Your grandmother used to prance around in a pair of three and a half inch heels every day that she just adored,” he said, and all of Armin's attention was suddenly focused on him. It was rare that his grandfather talked about his late wife. “They made her half an inch taller than me, and she just loved that,” he said, his eyes a bit distant. “She liked the poofy skirts too,” he said.

Armin laughed. “And the earrings?”

“I don't think she'd like the cartilage ones, to be honest.”

Armin laughed again, and went to his breakfast. He was still nervous about school, but he'd suddenly felt so much better.

After breakfast, he found himself standing at the bus stop. He felt like a nerd, gripping the straps of his backpack with both hands, but it was a nervous tic. A few of the people around him were staring at him and whispering. Armin's mood sunk a little bit, he knew what they were saying, he might as well have memorized these words by now—always the same. “Is that a boy or a girl?”

Armin wished that he lived a bit closer to Mikasa and Eren's house, because then he'd ride their bus and get on at their bus stop. He squirmed a bit, lifting his toes and letting himself rock on the heels a bit, willing the time to walk faster when a boy who'd previously been standing with another walked up to him.

He had a round face with lots of freckles and dark hair, and he smiled at Armin and said, “Hi, I'm Marco. What's your name?”

Armin couldn't remember the last time he'd heard so innocently plain an introduction, and he couldn't help but smile a little bit. “My name's Armin. And I'm a boy,” he said, figuring that Marco had only come to ask him about that. It was disappointingly common for him.

“I'm a boy too,” Marco said, grinning, the boy he had been standing with stewing behind him. “I like your heels,” he said kindly.

“I borrowed them from my friend,” Armin said, “this is my first time wearing them outside my house.”

“Well, I have to applaud you,” Marco said, “I'd already be flat on my face the moment I stood up wearing a pair of heels, so you know, good job.”

Armin liked Marco, he decided, and allowed him to introduce him to his friend Jean, who was a bit self righteous and curt if not interesting and intelligent.

This couldn't be so bad, this whole high school thing, he figured.

_v_

Once he'd arrived, he'd immediately sought out Eren and Mikasa, finding them relatively quickly in the mobbed halls. Mikasa was wearing the purple gauzy skirt and the orange sneakers. Eren was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, which was far from out of the ordinary for him.

Eren had stared at him in something like surprise, even though he'd known Armin would be wearing this on the first day of school. “Wow, look at you!” he said, putting on a smile, as they settled in front of the locker that was to be Mikasa's. Today was more of a freshman orientation day than anything, and no upperclassmen were present, and they had thirty minutes before they were expected to be in their homerooms.

“Not taller than you, though,” Armin said, looking up at the top of Eren's head. “Looks like another inch and a half to go, huh?”

“We can buy you some,” Mikasa said pleasantly. “Wanna go shoe shopping this weekend?”

“Definitely,” Armin said, noticing that Eren still hadn't taken his eyes off of him. He blushed the tiniest bit, and smiled for a second at Eren, clasping his hands in front of him. He could get used to the attention they decided.

Conversation strayed off, and Eren reached out and gripped Armin's hand as they walked towards Armin's new locker. They hadn't held hands since they were kids, but Armin decided that he didn't mind it at all, and gently squeezed Eren's hand, looking away quickly when Mikasa noticed their clasped hands.

She smiled.

_vi_

School was made better by the fact that Eren and Armin just kept holding hands. Neither was actually sure what had prompted him, but they both found it pleasant. During lunch, they would sit next to each other, and Eren would playfully fiddle with Armin's earrings and Armin would try to push his away, giggling, and there was no one to see because Mikasa had a different lunch period.

On Thursday, Armin wore mascara, just because, and Eren took it as an excuse to spend the whole day staring into Armin's eyes, making Armin embarrassed but also so, so flattered.

_vii_

On Friday, Eren came to spend the night, and got treated with the fumes of nail polish remover as Armin sat on the desk and Eren sat on the bed. There were little clippings of articles on marine biology littered on the desk, along with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, strip paper, and white and clear nail polish.

Eren complained about his classes and Jean Kirschtien (although Armin found him a likable bus riding companion, Eren hated him) and Armin painted his nails. He pressed the wet strips of paper to his hands, waiting for the ink to bleed and transfer. When that was done, he put on a thick clear coat, and did not challenge the views of Eren Jaeger on the personal virtues of Jean Kirschtien as he gave them time to dry.

When Eren's rant finally tapered off, Armin held up his left hand, and said, “What can you read?”

Eren moved in closer, picking up his hand in looking at his finger. Putting a his index finger on Armin's middle finger, he said, “Well, beluga is right in the middle of this one,” and then moving his finger to Armin's ring finger, he said, “And I'm pretty sure this one is talking about the sex drive of the male dolphin.”

Armin started laughing a bit, unable to hold it down. Eren laughed too, and when they both stopped they stared at each other for a moment. Eren still grasped Armin's hand in both of his.

It wasn't something that needed talking about, when they leaned in, and their eyes fluttered shut, sharing a chaste kiss. Armin felt something in his stomach drop and something in his brain soar.

Breaking apart after only a moment, they stared at each other. “I guess I know what the hand holdings about now,” Armin said gently, looking up into Eren's eyes.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Eren said, and well, everything that happened after that that evening felt perfectly natural.

_viii_

Just because Armin wore girly clothes a lot of the time, didn't mean that he wore them all the time. On Sunday morning when Carla Jaeger arrived to drive him and Mikasa to the mall, he was wearing regular blue jeans, worn out running shoes, and Eren's hoodie.

Mikasa and Armin sang along to popular pop songs in the car as Carla worried her way through all the traffic, finally turning in. As she parked, she double checked that they both had money, and that their cell phones were turned on, before she turned them loose to walk inside.

“So,” Mikasa said, “I may have heard that you and Eren made out on Friday night,” she said playfully, elbowing him as they walked through the parking lot.

Armin's ears turned pink with blush. “We might have,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling a little.

“I knew it, I knew it,” Mikasa sang, “It was inevitable, wasn't it? I love it.”

They browsed through racks at the first store, picking up minimal items. Armin found a pair of butterfly clips he wanted to try in his hair. Mikasa bought underwear, thongs, to be exact. So many shopping trips, and Armin was desensitized to the idea of Mikasa wearing them, although he hadn't been all that undisturbed by it at first. Now he didn't care. But thongs were definitely one piece of women's clothing he had no intention to touch.

They moved on to the shoe store. They wandered into the clearance, looking through the women's size nine and a halves. A lot of it was sandals, and the displays were rickety metal messes, compared to the wooden displays that made up the full price displays.

The picked through them slowly, until Armin found a pair of neon green four inch stilettos, and squealed, a little.

“Look at these!” he said, waving the box at Mikasa.

She looked at them for a moment with something akin to wonder, and said, “Try them on, right now.”

Armin sat down on the little bench, and took off his shoes quickly, putting the stilettos on. They were a bit tight at his toes, but they felt good. There was just something so outrageous about them, and they made him feel amazing.

He held out his hands to Mikasa, who helped him to his feet. He wobbled a bit, suddenly an inch taller than her, which was more disorienting than he'd liked to admit.

After steadying him, Mikasa let go of his shoulders, and said, “Oh, wow, you look so fierce.” Armin grinned, and moved to take a step forward.

He crashed straight into the clear display, knocking everything down for him to fall on top of, the ridiculously high heels sticking out of the whole mess as Armin gave a groan of pain from below.

The other shoppers heads had swiveled around to look at the sudden source of noise and commotion, at the fallen display rack. Mikasa kneeled next to Armin, and pulled the shoes off of his feet, pulling him to his feet.

Armin breathed out, “I'm gonna have so many bruises,” as the sales associate, a man somehow shorter than him approached, yelling.

“Do you realize how much damage you could've caused to the shoes, or the rack?” he ranted.

Armin didn't really pay attention, and he didn't realize. He hurt a bit everywhere. He let Mikasa help him put his sneakers on as the sales associate yelled a bit more and the manager came, looking grim.

“I'm going to have to ask you two to leave, sorry,” he said, and he did look genuinely apologetic as the sales associate muttered about the mess he'd have to pick up.

“We'll get out of here now, okay?” Mikasa said, dusting herself up, and pulling Armin up too.

But Armin still held the shoe box. With a quiet voice, he said to the manager, “Just let me buy the shoes first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Crossdressing Armin is just about the most important thing in the world. I must sleep
> 
> edit: It's a goddamn beautiful world, we have art of [Armin in his heels](http://secretcow.tumblr.com/post/80511209151).


End file.
